


Not Exactly Visions of Sugarplums

by ataratah



Category: Whyborne and Griffin - Jordan L. Hawk
Genre: Anal Sex, Christmas Eve, Established Relationship, Gift Giving, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 07:56:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8882530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ataratah/pseuds/ataratah
Summary: Set just before Necropolis, featuring last-minute Christmas shopping, shameless fluff, and zero monsters.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SapphoIsBurning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphoIsBurning/gifts).



> Thanks to my beta, reflectedeve, who is always reliable with insightful comments on a deadline!

_Christmas Eve, 4:45 PM_

 

“I believe you’re the only one in the entire museum who is actually still focused on your work at this time of year.”

I blinked up at the youngest of the Ladysmith’s night watchmen, who had appeared in my office doorway—was it already so late that the night shift had begun? It was true that I was focused on my work… the lamps were dim from my inattention, and very little natural light was left in the day, which had been cloudy and gray to begin with.

“I honestly don’t know if I should be impressed or appalled by your dedication,” he continued cheerfully, “at any event, it’s good you are here, since there’s a messenger who insists on seeing you.”

He waved in another young fellow, who tipped his somewhat scruffy hat at me.

“Here you go, sir,” he said, holding out a letter.

Was it some emergency, I wondered? But the direction was from Christine, currently in Egypt. Surely she would telegram if there was an emergency? There was nothing to do but read it.

 

> _I hope this letter does not find you in good health, as I rather hope it does not find you at all. Working at all hours is all well and good, but you do recall that it is Christmas Eve, and you have someone waiting for you at home, don’t you?_

Oh hells. I hadn’t even noticed the date this morning—or for the past few days, really. Wasn’t it still the 19th? Perhaps the letter had arrived too early?

“Erhm. Could you tell me…?”

“Yessir, it’s Christmas Eve, sir,” said the messenger, beginning to look somewhat bemused.

I cursed under my breath and continued reading.

 

> _Of course you don’t. Which is why I arranged for this letter to be sent._
> 
> _I’m sure you have something horrifying planned for your roommate on Christmas Day, as much as I hope you wouldn’t drag him to visit your family. So, unless you are quarreling again, Christmas Eve is your chance to redeem yourself._
> 
> _And if you’ve been completely forgetful and still need a gift, I met an interesting man before I left with a unique little store nearby—he celebrates the solstice properly, and Christmas not at all. His shop will be open, and should have something for you to wrap up as a thoughtful gift. Pete has the card with the directions._

I looked up once more. “Are you Pete?”

“Yessir,” Pete said, grinning, and handed me the card unasked. From the address, it seemed only a few blocks away, an easy walk.

 

> _And for the love of everything sacred, please don’t forget to tip the man, as he also had to bestir himself out of doors in who knows what awful December weather on Christmas Eve for your sake._
> 
> _All my love,_
> 
> _Christine_
> 
> _P.S. Yet another favor you owe me!_

Pete’s hand was out, even before I had fumbled together some money to press into it, and the night watchman escorted him out as I gathered my things.

*

_Christmas Eve, 5:20 PM_

 

The walk to the shop was short, but I took two wrong turns, and was therefore fairly cross with the holiday, the cold weather, and my own forgetfulness for keeping me out of doors and walking further away from my cozy home with every step. The blast of warmth that enveloped me as I entered the shop mollified me, however, and the intriguingly eclectic decor had me instantly distracted. Hand blown glass ornaments were piled against cloths with intricate tribal or celtic designs, pottery and masks adorned the shelves, and glass cases were filled with shining silver jewelry.

The proprietor was equally interesting—of Native American ancestry, perhaps from the nearby Nauset tribe, his hair as slickly black as the proverbial raven’s wing. Full lips parted in a smile below an otherwise forbidding aquiline nose as he saw me enter.

“Good evening,” he called out, “I wasn’t expecting many more customers this evening!”

“I, uh, rather lost track of the date,” I explained lamely.

“So you’ll want a gift then, and not something for yourself? Do you know what you’re looking for?” He asked, leaning over the gleaming wooden counter.

What was I looking for? Griffin wouldn’t particularly care for some meaningless bauble, but the likelihood of my finding something that would begin to compensate for his decision to choose me over his family was so slim as to be nigh impossible anyway.

I glanced at a mirrored tray covered with bottles of essential oils. Perhaps something that could bring even a fleeting sense of ease might be worthwhile?

I held up a bottle of lavender oil, “Would this help with dreams at all?’

“It promotes relaxation certainly, but if you want to guarantee a peaceful sleep you’ll need something a bit stronger.”

I grimaced, picturing some kind of laudanum based potion.

He read my look with a smirk, “I meant this,” he said, gesturing beside the counter where a webbed circle, strung with polished beads and a particularly bright feather hung. “Are you familiar with dreamcatchers?”

“It’s meant to prevent nightmares, isn’t it?”

“More accurately, it traps them, drawing them away from the dreamer, but the result is the same. Are you interested?”

“Is it imported from—?”

“Oh no,” he said, looking a little uncomfortable, “I made it. An Ojibwe tradition, you see? Not something you’ll see made by my mother’s tribe on the coast, but I learned the trick of it from my father and I have no small talent in… well, it will be effective enough.”

“And there is just the one?”

He sighed, “I had intended it for my partner, but I had to order away for the kingfisher feather, you see? A common pigeon feather won’t do, you know, and I’m limited by working in an urban environment. But by the time it arrived… we had separated.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, discomfited a little at the naked emotion on his face. And more than a little curious about the careful lack of pronouns. Could this dealer be another fellow like myself and Griffin?

“No, no, please don’t be sorry. Indeed, I think that I am happier now.” His white teeth gleamed in a smile, “The material point is that there is nothing I can use as a substitute for the feather, you understand?”

“Why would I wish a substitute?” I asked. It was a pretty shade of blue, and its size was in balance with the rest of the the piece, creating a pleasing effect. I could not see why I might want to change it.

“Well, there’s intent, and symbolism to take into account,” he said, again, it seemed, deliberately vague, “As long as you understand that it is a somewhat intimate present?”

“Err, well,” I floundered, feeling a flush suffuse my cheeks, “I suppose dreams are always somewhat intimate?”

“I see,” he said, noting my expression in a way that made me flush further, “it seems my dream catcher will be in good hands!”

*

_Christmas Eve, 6:30 PM_

 

Earlier in the month, when the streets were just beginning to be decorated, I'd done enough planning that I'd ended up complacent; hence, my current circumstances. Christine’s present had long since been selected and sent off to Egypt. I was deeply ashamed to have forgotten Griffin; to have left acquiring his present so late when he meant so much to me, and more every day.

I had some nicer parcel paper set aside in my office, so a return trip to the museum was necessary, and by the time I headed home the night was brighter than the day had been, lit by gas lamps, torches, festive candles, and glowing firelit windows.

Certainly a very merry effect.

Our house was filled with the scent of cinnamon, and Saul was purring so loudly over a saucer of milk that I thought the furniture rattled.

“There you are! I was beginning to be worried,” Griffin said, frowning as he helped to divest me of all my outer accoutrements: hat, gloves, scarf, and coat.

“I’m sorry I’m late, I lost track of time as I was working,” not to mention the date, but I didn’t need to mention that, with my successful shopping trip behind me, “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” I apologized.

“I do know you, Ival; if I’d needed you home early, I would have reminded you. As it was, I had time to finish decorating,” he gestured behind him.

We had purchased a small fir tree, only a few feet tall. Knowing it would be dwarfed by the grand tree my parents would no doubt have for tomorrow’s Christmas dinner, we’d decided on something more modest ... with the unexpected consequence that Saul could easily knock it down when, and if, he chose (as he had at least twice in the last week alone). It sat in the corner, still undecorated, for the safety of our small collection of ornaments, the tree skirt rumpled beneath it, held down by a few presents. But the rest of the room was indeed now festooned with candles, bundles of holly, and—

“—Mistletoe,” Griffin pointed out, grinning rakishly before pulling me into a deep kiss.

My package poked him in the back.

“My dear Ival, what are you jabbing me with?”

“It’s your present,” I said, disentangling myself reluctantly from his embrace to hand it to him.

“I thought I’d just unwrapped my present,” he laughed, waving his hand at all my winter things, still piled around me in the entryway.

I flushed, “I believe I’m already yours,” I reminded him, “whereas this present is new.”

“Well, that is a surprise, because I’ve been shaking the one you left me under the tree for weeks! I didn’t think you devious enough to use a decoy, Ival.”

I had walked past the little stack of packages under the tree for weeks—gifts for my parents, even a package for Saul… how had I forgotten the green tie, purchased months ago, which I'd wrapped for Griffin in matching paper? Had I blamed myself too harshly for forgetting to buy Griffin a present, or was forgetting the present I had purchased for him approaching new heights of absent mindedness, which should be judged more harshly still? Most likely, I had just panicked at Christine’s suggestion without thinking things through.

Neither option would do me much credit as a loving partner, however, so I improvised quickly, “oh, that present is for tomorrow morning, and this one is for Christmas Eve!”

Griffin’s eyes crinkled at the corner and his mouth twitched, “I think my present to you this Christmas Eve will be pretending that I believe that.”

I paused in dismay, then asked quietly, “You aren't upset?”

“You know I want us to be honest with each other, dear, but that was the worst dissembling I've ever seen, so it's hard to be mad.”

“I thought it was a rather good excuse,” I insisted, “and I mean to make it the truth; you really should open this one tonight.”

He took the gift from me with his right hand and used his left to pull me into another kiss, though it was just a light press of lips that left me wanting.

“It was a good excuse, but it took you too long to come up with it, and you looked the entire time as though you had sudden indigestion,” he said archly.

“I'm sorry, I wanted this to be a good Christmas to make up for… recent events, and here I've been late and forgetful, and—”

“And now you're home, and we'll eat dinner, and I'll open my Christmas Eve present,” he interrupted cheerfully. “Truly, I couldn't ask for a better evening.”

*

_Christmas Eve, 11:57 PM_

 

Near midnight, I woke up abruptly from a dream, my heart pounding, and my cock stiff, to see the dreamcatcher spinning lazily overhead, kingfisher feather fluttering on some invisible breeze. Griffin was still slumbering peacefully beside me, and if his dreams were more restful than mine because of my gift, I should not disturb him. But though the details of my own dream were growing hazy, the, er, consequences were becoming more urgent. I determined that if I were almost still, and relied on the spare handkerchief to catch my release, I could resolve the issue on my own without disturbing Griffin.

We had not put away the lubricant from our earlier bout of lovemaking, so it was still within easy reach, and I used only enough of it to grease my hand and cock, slowly turning away from Griffin so as not to disturb the covers.

“You know, Ival, it’s quite selfish of you not to share that with me on Christmas Eve of all nights,” Griffin’s sleep roughened voice tickled against my ear as he spooned up behind me, “haven’t you heard it’s the season of giving?”

“Did I wake you?”

“Mmm, from a lovely dream where you had become a werewolf…”

“That sounds more like a nightmare,” I replied, shocked. “Perhaps after all we’d encountered, it isn’t exactly naive to believe in the powers of a dreamcatcher, but I had hoped…”

“Despite the fact that the dream version of you ravaged me quite thoroughly as a wolf, it was not a nightmare, Ival,” he said in a low voice, his meaning made explicitly clear when his erection pressed up against the small of my back, “and I was rather hoping you might be awake to finish me off?”

I could hardly refuse such a request, and we rolled together so that Griffin was now curled on his side, his skin become slick against my own naked chest.

Another palmful of lubricant was enough to prepare Griffin, still loose from our earlier exertions, and soon I was pushing into the warm clasp of his body. His skin burned warm against mine as we shifted closer, though the chill air pierced the warm cocoon of our blankets as we began to move together. Though the nature of his dream suggested a ferocity of desire, I could sense he wanted it slow, and so I gave it to him with a deep, languorous rhythm until he cried out softly in completion. A few more strokes into his trembling body, and I came as well, panting into the back of his neck.

We shared a few moments of quiet before he asked, “Are we going to discuss why you gave me a dreamcatcher that inspires erotic visions, my dear?”

“I know it has been hard for you, ever since… well. And I know what a relief it was to me when my dreams of the sea ceased. I wanted that relief for you, a ward against your nightmares, since I cannot go into your dreams to stop them myself,” I confessed.

“I do understand the general point of a dreamcatcher, my dear, and it was very thoughtful of you,” he said. It was generous of him to praise the thoughtfulness a last minute gift, but I bit my lip instead of interrupting him to bring up that point. “But I’m still curious about the side effects. I know for a fact that we both went to sleep thoroughly satisfied, which usually tends to suppress those kinds of dreams. Yet we both woke up on the verge of nocturnal emissions?”

I might have still attempted to dismiss it as a coincidence, but I remembered the dealer’s warning that our particular dreamcatcher was an ‘intimate’ present.

“Oh my,” I said in dismay, as realization struck, and buried my head against his shoulder so he could not see my face, even in the dark.

“Ival?”

“The shopkeeper may have tried to warn me that it was a lover’s gift…”

Griffin chuckled, “My dear, I hope you never change. And I honestly cannot regret your purchase, though we might have to begin retiring to bed earlier as a result.”

I couldn’t regret it either. Perhaps there was a reason I had forgotten about Griffin’s tie, still lying beneath the tree for tomorrow. It would look very well on Griffin, elegant, while highlighting the color of his eyes. But it could not make up for what he had lost for my sake, or soothe past hurts. That job was mine, and I could not help but realize my own insecurity that I would prove inadequate to the task. I would, however, continue to try to make him happy, for as long as he let me.

“Merry Christmas, my dear,” I whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy yuletide, SapphoIsBurning! I hope you don't mind that Griffin's dream was inspired by your marvelous story, [In the Mouth of the Monster](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2805383), which I greatly enjoyed reading! I hope you've liked this story even a fraction as much!


End file.
